8-Ball
by Brandon858
Summary: Taken in at a young age. He worked, toiled, and killed for years. Betrayed for everything he did, he's out for revenge. And nothing nor anyone is going to stop his thirst for vengeance. Written from a 1st person view.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

-December 2015-

-Safehouse, South Bohan, Liberty City, New York-

-Late afternoon. Light snow-

Winter in Liberty City. Cold as a witch's tit. Cold as a gun. Its times like this, the cold brings out the inner demons in society. It brings out the loneliness in a person, the pain I have boring a hole inside my chest. Unable to feel pity, remorse, or fear for the people I once had respect for and considered as a family. The lies, the betrayal. It brings me to the boiling point.

The point of no return.

Without wasting time, I started loading the Benelli M3 Super 90 twelve-gauge shotgun with a mix of armor piercing shotgun slugs, and good ol' fashioned, standard buckshot. When I was finished, I took both small boxes and emptied the shells in my pocket. It was quite a bit, but good enough for the hell I was going to unleash. Afterward, I loaded up on several pistols. A Sig-Sauer P229 chambered in nine-millimeter. And two CZ-75 pistols chambered in .40 S&W hollow tipped rounds. With three clips for each handgun, it would have to do. I was going to be doing a lot of running and gunning.

Next, I grabbed my shoulder holster. It once belonged to my father, who was a cop when I was a kid. A detective in the narcotics division. It made me proud to be the son of a well known cop. It also broke my heart when he died on my thirteenth birthday. Why you ask? He was gunned down by a couple of small time hoods at a corner store robbery He was supposed to make it to my martial arts tournament that day but was swamped with paperwork. The last few words I heard him say before he left was that he was proud of me. I wanted to be just like father after hearing those words.

Now look at me; I'm pushing thirty one, a former hitman for the mob, and developed an addiction for painkillers. Mom and Dad would be so proud to see the man I became…no…the monster I am. No matter. I'll get them for you. And for you Rebecca…for what they did to you, I'm going to see they suffer. They have to. They _need_ to.

Grabbing my leather jacket, I took a look of myself in the mirror. Here I was, standing at six feet tall, two hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle, a small scar over my left cheek, dark green eyes, and a short black flat top haircut. Both of my ears were pierced and had a diamond stud earring. I had on black steel-toed boots to match the color of my cargo pants and solid colored polo shirt. Once I was done, I slipped on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. They were a little tight, but I didn't care. They've been helpful to me in a fistfight throughout the years. I looked at myself one last look at myself, mentally preparing myself for the war I was about to start.

No second chances.

No looking back.

I'm coming for you Joey Leone. You and your whole crew are good as dead.

My name is Elijah Ballard…but you can call me 8-Ball.

And this is my story.


	2. Chapter 2

For any of this to make any sense, we gotta go back. Back when things were calm, a bit peaceful. Back when things weren't so fucked up. _**-February 1996-**_

 _ **-South Slopes, Broker, Liberty City-**_

My mom Catherine Timpanari, being Italian and my father Lance Ballard being African-American. A lot of people gave them a hard time due to the fact that they were an interracial couple. My mom got the worse of it, cause Italians didn't date niggers according to some of the people on the block I had lived in. In case you're wondering it's South Slopes, in Broker. She didn't care though. If she lost a few friends, fuck 'em. If her parents were going to cut her off financially and not give her the support she needed when she was pregnant, fuck 'em. My mother had once told me, love should never have a barrier on someone cause of color of their skin.

My father was a big man. No, not just in the weight. It more in the height. The man was standing 7'1. Varsity track star, all city wrestling champ, and a running back for Broker high school football team. He was always making jokes, he was a hell of a runner, and he always had a smile on his face when he saw mom and I. I almost looked like my father, right down to his green eyes. He was like a superhero in my eyes, when he talked about the latest criminal he put away or got into a tussle with. I remember the story he told me when I was ten, about the time he chased a purse snatcher for eleven blocks only for the guy to drop the bag. My father said he grabbed it while sprinting and still ran up to the guy and caught him. Not only that, he dragged the man back to where the lady had her purse grabbed and forced him to apologize. I wish I was there to see that.

My mom was a brunette like my dad, only she had hazel brown eyes. She was kind of athletic. She didn't do sports when she was in school, but she was an exercise nut. Three days a week, for three hours, she would be doing squats, legs lifts, jumping jacks. When she wasn't working out, she would working at a bakery she owned, called Just Desserts out in Dukes. My mom was a great fucking cook. When she cooked, she put her heart, soul and, love in making her food. Every Sunday night she would make a huge feast. You know how most Italian mother's are; they cook for three but it looks like it's for thirty? I'm not complaining though. Didn't have to worry about leftovers that's for sure.

Growing up as a mixed kid in my neighborhood wasn't a cakewalk. Being called a mulatto, a quadroon, half-n-half. But the worst was when I was called a moolie, a moolie-wop, or moulinyan. Let me tell you, the throwdowns I got into were the talk of the school. For example there was this one Italian/Irish fat ass kid by the name of Philip Tuscola were twelve, and there was this cute eighth grade Chinese girl who waved hi at me. I walked over to her, we talked, and things kind of just hit off…for a short moment. What I didn't know was that Phillip had a big crush over her, and that I ruined his chances of being with her. Before she would give me her phone number, I saw her get struck on the side of the face with a rock. She fell hard bleeding on my white high tops and twitching badly.

"Why don't you date some jungle bunny bitch, you fucking moolie!?" Phillip said with so much hatred and venom in his voice, he was spitting.

When the paramedics came in they saw me holding her. Sniffling. "Come on Lin, wake up. Snap out of it! Please!" She just kept twitching. Her eyes open. I didn't know what to make of it.

One week later I found out, she was brain dead. A fucking vegetable. They kept her on a feed tube for a while till her family ended up pulling the plug on her. That did it for me.

It took some time but I managed to find that butterball. It was during lunch, and he was at the computer lab looking at porn and murmuring to himself. There was nobody else around, so this was my chance to get revenge. He was too preoccupied with himself (in more ways than one), to hear me. I had a keyboard held firmly in my hands as I got right up behind him.

"Hey fat ass."

Phillip spun around shocked, as I swung that keyboard like I was playing for the Liberty City Swingers. The hard plastic cracked across his face. I swung again. The plastic cracked even more. I swung for a third time, only much harder. The grey keyboard broke in half, covered in blood as Philip sunk to the ground. Tossing it, I reached behind the computer he was on and pulled out the mouse cord. He was groaning in pain as he tried to pull his pants up. His face was leaking blood all over the brown carpet, including three of his teeth. Wasting no time wrapped the cord around his neck and pulled back hard. The fucker squealed like a stuck pig. His arms were failing around as I tried to pull even more, but I was losing grip. I then decided to turn him around and give him a glance who it was. The damage I did to his face was intense. His mouth was slacked open, his nose was twisted and broken. Three teeth were missing while, four of them were chipped. His eyes were full of tears, and fear as I choked him even more.

Good. I wanted him to fear me.

"W-what did I d-d-do!?" he croaked.

I said nothing and for the next several minutes started to rain punches against his face. He cried, and begged for help. He wasn't going to get any from me. I pulled him up and knee him in the stomach, causing him to vomit up blood, bile, and whatever he had to eat. Letting go of the cord, I stared him even more. He pissed on himself. I kicked him the face once and he was out cold. He fell on the vomit and stayed there. Snoring. I walked away, adjusting my blue windbreaker, and left the room.

I don't know what came over me that day. I felt like I had turned into a monster. I did something I never thought I did and you know something? It felt good. Least I thought it did a week later. That pudgy punk had snitched on me. It's embarrassing when a cop comes to your classroom to pull you away. It's even more embarrassing when one of those cops is your father.

Was I taken to juvie? No. My dad managed to pull a string or two, to make sure I didn't spend time there, or become expelled from school. But he was pretty upset.

"I get pulled away my lunch break and this is what happens. So you like to fight?"

"Dad, he hurt someone I liked. I didn't want to just let him get away with it!" I protested.

"So bashing his face with a keyboard, and choking him with the mouse cord, is your way of solving it?" My dad said easing his voice an octave while we were in the squad car.

"He also…called me a moolie." I mumbled on the last part.

"It doesn't give you the excuse to do what you did," my dad said shaking his head as we pulled up to a gym. "But I'll admit, you stood up for what you believed in, so your heart was in the right place _. Mostly_."

 _ **-February 1996-**_

 _ **-Firefly Island, Broker, Liberty City-**_

I glanced at the gym we were at. BJ's Fitness Center. I was wondering why on earth we were at the gym my dad worked out, till I heard him turn off the engine to the car and look at me.

"For the next six months, every day after school, you're gonna be working out and learning self defense. If you're gonna fight, you're gonna do it with some kind of technique."

I laughed. I don't why but I started chuckling. " _This is my punishment!?"_

My father lightly smacked me upside the head. "I don't see how it's funny. You're going under the same workout regime, that I go through on a weekly basis. Now let's go."

My laugher was cut short and my smile died really fast. I remember how my dad would workout. Intense, hard, and he rarely took a break. Sulking, I stepped out of the car and followed him. How bad could it be?

When I walked in, it looked like a movie studio than a gym. There were large lights around along with several people working on treadmills next to a small juice bar. There was tons of exercise equipment, as I saw a guy bench press what it looked like three hundred pounds. House music was playing as my dad scanned the room.

"Go ahead and sit. I'm going to find you a trainer." He said as I sat down on the seat of an exercise bike. As I looked around I saw a few women that looked like they were in their early twenties dresses in leggings, tank tops and running shoes. Some had sweatbands on, some had their hair tied up in a ponytail, while a couple had their hair down and didn't mind hair in their faces. The moves they were doing were seductive and had me squirm in my seat a bit. Yeah, I was a bit sprung from seeing these women shaking their asses and thrusting their hips to the beat…ok I was _very sprung_.

"Elijah, come here!" My dad yelled, causing me to snap out of it. He motioned me to head on over to him and blonde haired woman next to him.

I got up, praying no one saw me pitching a semi hard on in my jeans as I walked past the women and over by dad, who could tell what was going on with me.

"Like what you saw huh?" My dad said laughing, causing my face to turn red from embarrassment. "Don't worry; I tend to peek at them sometimes.

"You aren't gonna tell mom are you?" I asked sounding worried.

"I won't tell, if you won't," My dad said patting me on the back. "Son, I want you to meet your personal trainer, Cynthia."

"Hey sweetie, how are you?" Cynthia said sweetly as she extended her hand.

Cynthia was hot. I mean smoking hot. She was a nineteen year old Brazilian, iwith brown eyes, and long black hair that to her shoulders. She was 5'8 and looked like she weighed a good 130-135 pounds. She had lips that were pouty and as she smiled showed a full row of straight white teeth. She had on a red tank top and from the way it held on to her, it looked like she had no bra on to hold her 38C breasts. Don't ask how I knew her bra size…it's a gift I had since I was eight, bite me. She didn't have on leggings or tights like the other women did, but instead had on a pair of shorts that looked they were riding up her ass.

"Earth to Elijah? Hello?" Cynthia said nudging me.

I snapped out of it, and looked away. I was shy. "Hi." I said softly.

"Aww! You don't have to be shy with me honey." Cynthia said grinning.

Yeah, she was right. I didn't have to be shy. And she didn't have to have me pop a damn boner for looking that good.

"So your dad tells me that you wanna learn how to fight?" Cynthia asked, earning me a nod. She smirked. "Well, papi, I'm going to teach you mixed martial arts. Don't let the looks fool you, I know quite a bit and from what your dad told me, I'm gonna whip you in shape." First things first, we are going to get you some gym clothes and books.

"Books?" I said confusingly.

"Yes, books," she said tying her hair into a ponytail. "I'll let you pick out what you want to learn. When it comes to mixed martial arts, there are three common disciplines; striking, clinch, and my favorite ground. You'll read and tell me what you learned. After we exercise, well practice on what you learned. And you're gonna learn I'm not so gentle." She said the last past pushing her chest forward, giving me a look of her massive cleavage that had some sweat on it. She knew what she was doing and giggled. "Follow me kid."

As I walked staring at her nicely shaped ass, I head my dad.

"Have fun!"

I waved at my dad as he left and I went to get my workout clothes. When I was done she pointed me to several books. For striking, I wanted to learn Muay Thai kickboxing and Kenpo. For clinching, I chose to learn Sanshou, free form wrestling, and a bit of judo. And for ground, I only chose Brazilian Jiu-jitsu.

I showed her what I wanted to learn with a smile on my face. She didn't look amused at all.

"Pretty difficult shit you want to learn. I was hoping you'd pick something like boxing and that would be it."

"My dad works out really hard, and I want to as well. I want a challenge." I said confidently.

"Oh, you're gonna get one. Speed drills, cardiovascular training, squats, jump rope, and a shit ton of physical conditioning, with a two minute break in each workout. How many you do will be up to me, no excuses. By the time I'm done with you, you're gonna be begging for a break."

"By the time, I'm done, I'll be unstoppable." I said stretching as I headed towards the men's locker room.

"We'll see miho. _We'll see_." Cynthia said standing by the room and waited.

The locker room wasn't large like the one in my school, but least it didn't smell bad like it. I took my regular clothes off and stuffed them in the grey locker. The gym clothes Cynthia got me were alright. The sweatpants fitted me well, but the shirt was a size too big. Both had the color of black with red trim on the sides.

When I finished pushing my stuff in the locker, I left the locker room and nodded. _You can do this,_ I thought as I saw Cynthia finished eating a protein bar and tossing the wrapper in the trash. I was determined to show her and my dad that I was ready. She curled her finger in a 'come hither' motion as she saw me.

I think I'm going to love my punishment.


End file.
